A Bit of Meddling
by screw-reason-give-me-anime
Summary: A series of one shots about how the Nations meddled to help assemble the crew of the Enterprise.
1. America and McCoy

Leonard McCoy was having a bad week, scratch that, the past month and a half had been hell. He glared at the dingy establishment as he bent over with a threadbare cloth to wipe the messy table of yet another stingy customer that hadn't tipped.

Until recently, Leonard McCoy had been everyone's typical well-established small town southern doctor, that was until his wife of twelve years decided he could no longer satisfy her extravagant wants and ran off with the local, single, rather rich, bastard town lawyer. As much as he hated to admit it, his darling daughter Joanna was probably better off with her mom and her mom's new boyfriend, considering where he was now standing. He sighed deeply, stuffing the rag into the oversized pocket in his apron. While he would have preferred to stay at his practice, his divorce had shaken the small town and the way he and his wife did finally split was by no means pretty.

McCoy spared a glance at his newest customer; he was a rich boy; that much was clear by his thick vintage leather jacket. He wore wire framed glasses and had a funny piece of hair that stuck up. "Can I take your order?" he asked the boy with a small and unintentional frown.

"Dude!" the boy exclaimed excitedly, sounding like an idiot from the 21st century. "Do you have hamburgers? Oh, no, wait, what year is it? Oh that's right, you wouldn't have hamburgers now," the boy rambled slightly.

McCoy sighed, wondering if this rich boy had been watching too much TV lately. "Can I take your order?" he asked again, a slight hard edge to his voice.

He smiled, eyeing him in an almost fond way. "I guess I'll take fried chicken and roast beef and tea. I'd also like green beans and mashed potatoes," he glanced up for a moment. "You can do that, right?"

McCoy nodded, squibbing on his pad, wondering faintly how it had come to this. He had once had a life; a good life and where was he now? Waiting tables at a greasy diner to spoiled rich kids. He growled under his breath as he left. Damned rich kids.

McCoy brought the boy his order a few minutes before five thirty. He placed the dishes quickly on the table and attempted to disappear into the shadows, with no luck either. The blue-eyed boy looked up for a quick moment and studied his form. "You, Leonard," he frowned, eyes narrowing as he read McCoy's name tag. "When was the last time you ate? You don't look all that good."

"That's none of your business sonny," McCoy snapped even as he swayed slightly on his feet. In fact it had been a while; a day and a half at the least, McCoy didn't really remember all that well.

"Like hell it is," the boy snorted. "Sit," he ordered.

McCoy still in shock, obeyed, and took a seat next to him.

"My name's Alfred, by the way. Alfred F. Jones. Do you want some chicken?" he offered, waving his hand in the general direction of the platter of chicken.

McCoy shook his head. "No thanks kid, I'm not hungry," he denied easily, his growling stomach betraying him.

Alfred gave him a doubtful look, snorting again. "Sure you aren't," he agreed pushing a plate full of food toward him. "And don't call me 'kid' or 'sonny', I'm way older than I look, promise."

McCoy honestly doubted this fact, he hardly looked any older than nineteen, but he was hungry and he was giving him free food; at least he hoped it was free, because if it wasn't, McCoy wasn't sure he would be able to pay him back.

"What's the matter with you?" Alfred asked through a mouthful of green beans. "You're plenty old enough to have a good job and the like; you don't strike me as someone that would have spent their school years goofing off."

McCoy glared at the table, picking at the fried chicken skin. "Listen," he managed after a long moment. "You seem like a nice guy and I appreciate your concern but I'm not going to drop my problems on you like a weak-willed pansy."

"Your choice, dude," Alfred said cheerfully. "Hey, do you feel like a drink?" Alfred cocked an eyebrow at him. "Hm," he mused. "You sure look like you could use one. Bartender, give me two beers over here."

That was how McCoy found himself spilling the beans to Alfred only a few hour later, not that he was sober enough to realize it. "And . . . and then she left me! She left me for that damned rich playboy," McCoy managed, taking another swig of the amber liquid.

"Sorry dude," Alfred said as he patted McCoy's shoulder. "Hey, have you thought of joining Starfleet, they could use people like you, smart, capable."

"I hate space," McCoy said shortly, glaring at his half empty bottle. He laughed bitterly. "Damn optimisms, 'glass is always half full'," he slurred a bit drunkenly, rolling his eyes violently.

"Well, dude, I think you should think about it, hey, I think I have their card somewhere . . ." Alfred trailed off, digging in the pockets of his jacket. "Ah, here we go!" he smiled brightly, extracting the plain white card. He tucked it between McCoy's hands and clasped him on the back warmly. "Well buddy, I've got to head out, don't do anything stupid, okay?" Alfred said cheerfully. He dug in his pocket and dropped a fifty. He stood and filed out with the rest of the last minute customers, leaving McCoy snoring softly into the table.

When McCoy awoke several hours later with a terrible headache he found clutched in his right hand a slightly crumbled and damp business card for Starfleet. For one fleeting moment he thought about joining, ignoring the fact that he absolutely hated space. He shook off his fear, he had to get over it at some point, besides, his ex-wife had gotten the whole damn planet in the divorce anyway, so why not?


	2. Russia and Chekov

Pavel Chekov was home for the winter holidays. He shivered at the cold, but ignored it. No, he had to do this. He gritted his teeth and dug the shovel into the snow. At fifteen, Pavel guessed that his classmates were probably having a lot more fun than he currently was. Of course, nearly everything beat standing in five-foot deep snow, so it wasn't much of a contest. He was only doing this because he was desperate to go back in a few weeks. Pavel's parents were poor, by no fault of their own, it was simply a fact. They wanted to give their genius son the best future they possibly could. Unfortunately, Starfleet's scholarship and his parents' savings were only enough to pay for the first two years of his schooling. This money was now spent and if he wanted to return in a few weeks he needed at least five thousand dollars, a mere tenth of what his third year would cost.

The lady that had hired him to shovel was rather scary. She had been tall with white blond hair, although she was young. She had had large navy bow on her head and had given him a hard look before pointing at the yard and muttering something about her 'Big Brother'.

That had been about thirty minutes ago.

Pavel sighed and heaved the shovel over his shoulder sighing. Yep, definitely the best winter vacation ever. He knocked on the house door expecting the woman to answer, however he was met with a surprise.

The door was pulled open by a slightly older man with light dirty blond hair. Purple eyes regarded him carefully. "Da?" the man was causally leaning against the door. He wore a think winter coat decorated with metals and a heavy scarf.

"I'm Pavel Chekov," Pavel introduced himself with a slight nod. "Your sister, Natasha hired me to clear the yard and drive."

The man shivered at his sister's name, but smiled childishly. "Da, she did tell me that," he frowned, eyes narrowing at Pavel's Starfleet blazer.

"You are going there?" he asked, pointing at the emblem sewed onto his jacket.

"Yes," Pavel looked down at his snow covered boots. "I am," he inwardly sighed wishing the man would just pay him, but his parents raised him polite; therefore he sighed and focused on his shoes a bit more.

"Ah, well then, I think you ought to be paid. Give me a moment," he smiled and then slipped away.

Pavel stood, shifting his weight sighing. He would be doing this all week and even at that he doubted he would have the money he needed. He wondered what he should do after he was kicked out; maybe he'd have to return to his parents' farm, even though he was not really built for the hard manual labor it took to run a farm. Pavel had always been rather small and slight.

"Here," the man was smiling again, leaning up against the door frame, hand outstretched. "Open it."

Pavel wasn't sure why he should follow instructions from him, it seemed odd if he was to be honest, but the look he was currently receiving was pretty good encouragement. Hands sliding over the think envelope, Pavel opened it. Out of the white paper fell a few thousand dollars, more than enough to cover his expenses. He stood there shaking for a moment and then asked; "Why?" he hoped his voice didn't squeak too badly, it was a nasty habit he had grown into since puberty, especially if he was nervous.

"Starfleet is a good experience for any," the man explained calmly. "You are very smart, that I can see that easily. I wouldn't want good talent like that to go to waste, besides," at this he smiled a bit harsher than before. "Russians were the first in space, we should not be excluded."

"Um, okay then," Pavel said. It was true that he was the only Russian on campus and he was sometimes made fun of because of it; but the friends he had made were good and loyal and if he was to be honest, again, he hadn't really pondered it too much since the first week of school, some two years ago. "Are you sure you're okay with this?" he asked, not that he didn't need the money, it just felt wrong somehow.

The blond man looked at him dead in the eyes, purple eyes softening. "Da, it is good, no? I think you have a good future ahead of you Pavel Chekov, make Russia proud," he smiled again before shutting the door, leaving Pavel standing on the cleared porch staring slightly blankly at the closed wooden door.

Pavel shook his head violently in an attempt to assure himself it wasn't a dream. When he wasn't jolted awake to the white ceiling of his room, he broke out into a grin. Pavel turned abruptly on his heel and sprinted home.

"It's true," Pavel explained to his parents as he stood in front of the fire, arms spread wide; drip drying on the tile floor.

His mother looked up, giving him a small smile before turning back to her knitting. "I'm glad," she said simply.

His father glared. "I've heard crazy things about this man, son, I don't like it. I don't like it at all. A man would have to be crazy, half mad to do the things he does."

"Hush now," Pavel's mother snapped regarding his father with stern eyes. "He helped Pavel we should be thankful."

His parents beamed at him as the man's words echoed in his ears. _Make Russia proud. _Pavel decided that no matter how long it took him; he'd do exactly that.


End file.
